


Freelancers of Another Color

by Hinata_Akiama



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Project Freelancer, Secret Santa 2017, Shower Sex, freelancer - Freeform, tuckington if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 17:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13151025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinata_Akiama/pseuds/Hinata_Akiama
Summary: From the second Grif laid eyes on Michigan, he wanted to punch him. Or maybe kiss him. Who the fuck knows. All Grif knew, was that he was stuck with the annoying prick all day, every day.(RvB Secret Santa 2017 for @simmonss)





	Freelancers of Another Color

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for Red vs Blue's Secret Santa for 2017! For@simmonss on tumblr, I hope you enjoy!

From the second Grif laid eyes on Michigan, he wanted to punch him. Or maybe kiss him. Who the fuck knows. All Grif knew, was that he was stuck with the annoying prick all day, every day.

So, the squad they were part of was a little – well, let’s say interesting. The squad was divided into two teams of four, and even further broken down into partners. There was him (his codename was Hawai’i, because some smartass worked upstairs) and Michigan, and then Oklahoma and Jersey. The other half of the squad was California, and Louisiana, and new recruit Mississippi, who also happened to be _Grif’s sister what the fuck, how did she get here_. Then there was the rotating member of the squad, usually someone from another bracket to come in and train for the day. Hell, even sometimes Washington would come down and hang out with them on training days, but that was just him off in la la land, watching Louisiana’s ass.

The teams were a fairly even split, and usually you could divide the teams by the colors of their armor. His half of the squad was lovingly called _red team_ by California, who was also quick to call out that they were _blue team_. Never mind that that shit made no sense, cause of the rotating members, but California wasn’t all that bright upstairs. Fuck, at least he wasn’t trying to actively kill anyone yet. There was always the disaster about Kentucky that people whispered about behind California’s back, and cited for the main reason he’d been transferred down the bracket, but Grif liked him.

Group training was another matter, however. They’d start with paintballs and paint grenades in ‘the field’- actually it was a training room with holographic terrain managed by FILSS -, and whoever got a ‘fatal’ shot from the ‘enemy’ team was out. Grif, Michigan, Oklahoma and Jersey all had red paint in their weapons, and the others all had blue paint in theirs. Easier to see in contrast from the armor they wore.

Training started out well, with blue team entering in the busted up and blown-to-hell city that was today’s training area. Red team was already entrenched, with Michigan up in a sniper’s nest with his grenade launcher, Oklahoma camped out in a building, barely into the area and waiting semi-patiently for the blues to come by.

Grif was tucked out in a small area underneath Michigan’s roost, just to give his partner some ground support, but he still had eyes on Jersey, readying some of his favorite canisters in hand.

“Louisiana, oh, Louisiana! The little blue man came to say hi again to me this morning, but he’s really mean and I want to be his _best_ friend so maybe he is not so mean anymore.”

“Okay, what the fuck, Cali. I don’t care, okay? We’re supposed to be shooting some reds, okay, no-.” Louisiana was cut off mid-sentence by a canister chucked right at his face, spluttering as he rocked back into California.

 “Maybe you shouldn’t stop in an active battlefield to talk about little blue men!” Jersey – in all his lightish-red glory, sailed over the two with a laugh, chucking another paint grenade over at Mississippi, watching her scramble to duck behind some holographic rubble.

Louisiana was quick to get behind California as Michigan fired down on them, yelling his trademark ‘Suck it, blue!’ from his roost. Grif snorted a soft laugh as he leaned against the building, watching everyone scramble around to get out of the way of the paint grenades. Even Jersey had to take cover, whining as he got a huge splatter up his side.

“How am I gonna get all of this dark red out of this light red? It’s gonna take some serious rubbing, Michigan! You should be trying to hit the blues, not me!”

 “We’re all on the same team, dumbass!” Louisiana called, ducking down a bit more as a bright red canister hit near his feet. “Aw man, that’s gonna take forever to get off this fucking armor.” He nearly _whined_ , flipping off Michigan.

“What in the Sam Hell are you doing standing around, Hawai’i!?”

Grif startled, tilting his helm as he looked at Oklahoma, who was hefting his shotgun right up to Grif’s helmet. He was quick to pull the trigger and splat red paint over his visor. “You should be shooting at the despicable blues!”

“Son of a bitch! How the fuck am I supposed to shoot anyone now!” Grif shouted, already up on his feet and heading to the clean-up station, grumbling all the way as California ended up getting _everyone covered in blue paint_ _as he ‘accidentally’ stuck a grenade to Louisiana’s back._ Grif could hear Louisiana yelling something about a ‘team killing fucktard’ over in the corner, where he had a huge splotch of blue paint covering the entire back of his teal (aqua?) armor.

Everyone ambled their way over to the station, most pulling off their helmets just so that they could get at the paint covering over their visors. Louisiana was the first, his dreads spilling out over his shoulders as he picked up a scrub brush, listening to FILSS rattle off the stats for their training run. Grif didn’t pay attention, his own bun messy and sweaty as hell as he pulled off his helmet, snorting as he saw just how _thick_ the layer of paint was on his visor.

“Sounds like you got the most accuracy out of all of us again with the grenades, Jersey.” Grif joked, looking up at their squad leaderboard. It was independent of the main leaderboard, but it helped them figure out who needed work where Louisiana was at the top, with Jersey right after. Oklahoma, California, Michigan, Hawai’i and then Mississippi brought up the rear. The rankings hadn’t changed at all after the practice, but there was a mission coming up for them soon, and Grif felt the uneasy weight of it settle into his stomach. He dropped his helmet at the station, shoving at Michigan’s shoulder. “I’m gonna head back to the room, not feeling too hot after this.” He murmured to him, turning away from Michigan’s curious gaze.

Unfortunately for Grif, Michigan followed him out of the room, gently pulling him to a stop in the hallway. “Hawai’i. I know you’re normally lazy as fuck, but you need to at least clean your armor.”

“How about I _promise_ to clean my armor, but never get around to it so you have to?” Grif’s voice was tired, but he offered the smallest of grins, waving his hand at Michigan, quick to skulk away from his partner.

Grif headed to the locker room before going back to the room he shared with Michigan, mainly just to get the fuck out of his armor, biting at the inside of his lip and worrying at it. It was a simple in-and-out mission, but if Jersey and Mississippi fucked up the initial recon, they could find themselves in a pretty heated fire fight. It was a smash-and-grab to get some information from a small base of Insurrectionists, but said base still had at least fifty soldiers stationed to it. That was a lot of room for fuckup.

Grif was a pilot and backup for the mission, with Michigan on the door guns. Louisiana and Oklahoma would be the distractions, blowing up the motorpool, and disabling the vehicles so they couldn’t chase after the team. Jersey and Mississippi would sneak in at the same time, gathering the intel they needed, and while Michigan and Grif would be providing cover for a hot LZ, everyone would meet up and they’d get the fuck out. Hopefully. Assuming no one got stuck, or there were more soldiers than scouted or-

_Everything was going to be fine, stop fucking worrying_. Grif scolded himself, trying not to think about the fact that _it was his sister_. Her first mission, her first live combat. Shit could go wrong, shit could fuck up. Jersey was a good infiltrator, but he knew Kai. She was loud as fuck, and shit at following orders.

He stripped off the heavy plates of orange armor, leaving him in just the black undersuit, with the orange reinforcing on his shoulders, elbows, hips and knees. He always thought it looked like he had safety gear on for skating or some shit.

He turned back to his locker, ready to hit the code to open it up when he caught a bright flash of red out of the corner of his eye, turning slightly to look more fully into the mirror. Grif frowned at his reflection, turning his head this way and that, before he caught the little flash again. He twisted all the way around and lifted his thick bun up, groaning as he realized he had a thick line of red paint clumped into his hair, probably from when he had taken his helmet off.

_Fuck, now he was going to have to shower. Son of a bitch._

Grif hit the clasp at the back of his neck, feeling the weave of his combat suit unknit down to his lower back, rolling his neck to crack it as he relaxed now that the suit wasn’t practically keeping him together. He pulled it down off his shoulders first, pulling his hands free, letting it hang around his waist as he headed into the showers to start them up. It always took a bit for the hot water to get to this side of the ship.

He was coming back out when the locker room opened up again, and Michigan stepped inside. He held both his own and Grif’s helmet in his hands, his armor pristine from where he’d been up in his nest. “You took off pretty quick after training.” Michigan said softly, dropping Grif’s cleaned helmet on the bench in the middle of the room, his own coming to rest at the side.

“Yeah,” Grif grunted, working the hair tie slowly out of his hair. _Goddamnit, why do I let Kai talk me into keeping it this fucking long_. Grif swore softly as the dried paint stuck fast, making an impatient noise that got Michigan up on his feet, coming to help out.

Gloved hands reached out to take the mess of knotted hair from Grif, slowly picking through it like he was wont to do. It was a habit Michigan had started up when they first got together a few months ago, his exasperation with Grif’s laziness pertaining to his hair finally boiling over. “You’re worried about the mission. You don’t run off that fast from anything unless you’re freaking out. Wanna talk about it?” Michigan’s voice was soft for once, the pretense that they held up in front of everyone else dropped for now as they both worked at getting the knot of his hair undone.

“Not really.”

“That’s a lie and you know it, Grif.”

“Oh what, so we aren’t doing callsigns anymore?”

“Like we ever do when we’re out of armor anyway.”

“You mean like we get bitched out for when they catch us doing it?”

“Can we go back to the matter at hand here?” Simmons sighed out, rolling his eyes at Grif and giving a bit of a harsh tug to his hair.

“Look. Donut and Kai are gonna be great. Sarge is awesome at blowing shit up, Tucker’s good enough at hand to hand that he can keep shit away from him if it gets dicey, and I’ll have you with me on a fucking turret. _Everything is going to be fine_.”

“But you’re still worrying about it.” Simmons sighed as he stepped back, pulling his gloves free of his undersuit, settling them to the side as he worked those willowy fingers into the mess, finally actually _finding_ the fucking ~~hair~~ tie in all the mess of paint and thick hair.

“Of course I’m gonna worry. That’s my sister and people I don’t want to see die out there.” Grif snapped, looking up at the mirror so their eyes could meet over Grif’s shoulder, dark brown to bright green.

“Relax, okay? We’re not the worst.”

“ _Ever, of all time_?” Grif’s voice jumped an octave, batting his eyes at Simmons while he made fun of Washington and his frequent phrase in their training sessions.

Grif snorted out a laugh and shook his head, the hair tie finally coming free. His hair fell in a thick, tangled mess to the middle of his back, even though Grif knew it would be at his ass once it was wet and unknotted. “I don’t care what Kai says, I’m gonna cut this.” Grif bitched, working it all of it up into a twist as he turned to look up at the taller of the two of them. “I’m taking as shower, are you coming with?” He offered, flicking his eyes over to where steam was starting to come from the showering area, stepping around Simmons to head over that way, chucking the rest of his undersuit off.

Simmons blushed nearly as bright as his hair as he got a nice look at Grif’s backside. It was still a fairly new development, but hey, Simmons would take what he could get at this stage. He was quick to pile all of his maroon armor carefully into his locker, shy to the point that he also stacked Grif’s up and got his undersuit put away. He pulled out two sets of fresh, military-issue civvies, taking them into the showering area and settling them on the bench just inside. He finally got around to shucking off his own undersuit, leaving it next to the clothes, and heading deeper into the showers.

Grif was already soaking down his hair, working his fingers through the tangled mass. He was bitching quietly to himself as he did so, and Simmons bit back a laugh. “This is what you get for keeping it in a bun for three days and _sleeping like that_. I tell you every day that you need to brush it if you keep it that long.”

“ _I_ don’t want to keep it this fucking long. But Kai will stab me with a pair of scissors if I don’t. She’s done it before.” Grif growled, working some of the paint out between his fingers.

“Do you wanna try to get the paint out with water first, or are you gonna eat the huge amount of tangles and wash it out, and then have me spend three hours brushing it out?”

“Depends on what you feel up to doing tonight.”

“Let’s try to conditioner it to get the tangles out, then wash, then conditioner again.”

“That’s so much fucking work, Simmons.”

“Well, that’s what you get.”

They didn’t say much as they got Grif’s hair washed and conditioned, piling it up on top of his head to let the conditioner soak in. This was still new territory for them, knowing that they could touch one another, that it was welcome and would be reciprocated. It made Simmons even more shy than he normally was, but Grif barreled through it with the same casual nonchalance as he did everything else in his life.

His thick, broad fingers took up a bar of soap, setting it down and forcing Simmons to face away from him. Simmons squawked out at him, but Grif just laughed. “I’m washing your back, dumbass.” He said fondly, kissing Simmons on his freckled shoulder, hands gliding easily over wet skin.

Simmons bit his lips to keep in his gasp, tilting his head forward into the water to wash the shampoo out of his own hair, eyes tightly shut as Grif slicked his hands up his chest as well, making sure to soap off any little bits of paint that had fallen from Grif’s hair, and the sweat of the day from their training.

They showered in mostly silence, until they moved on to rinsing out Grif’s hair. “You knowit’s gonna be okay.” Simmons murmured, leaning down to rest his cheek on Grif’s shoulder, his slender arms gently resting around his hips.

He was already half-hard from having Grif’s hands on him, the freckled length pressing into Grif’s lower back, but it wasn’t insistent yet. They’d had sex already a couple of times, cautious and exploring one another well after lights out, quiet and tentative.

It seemed that Grif didn’t care about being careful this time, twisting around in Simmons’ hold and pressing him back against the cold tile. Simmons yelped loudly, quickly muffled by Grif’s lips on his own, making Simmons bang his head back into the tile from his surprise. It took a few moments, but he was relaxing down into the touch, feeling the thick frame of his best friend and lover press into his own.

Simmons draped his arms around Grif’s shoulders and eagerly leaned down into the kisses, their tongues warm and wet as they lapped into one another’s mouths, gentle teeth scraping against lips or tongues, even more wet from the water of the shower. Grif reached down to cup his hands under Simmons’ thighs, hauling him up so that Simmons wrapped his legs around Grif’s hips, pulling him down so that they were more of a similar height, rather than Simmons towering over Grif as he normally did.

Grif pressed his thick length against Simmons’ longer one, keeping one hand down under Simmons’ ass to support him. His other hand was quick to reach down and fist around both of their cocks. He was slow and teasing with his strokes, slicked from the water that hit Grif and cascaded down their bare bodies. He groaned, low and warm against his lover’s neck, biting down against the freckled skin, keeping the mark low enough that it could be covered by their civvies, not to mention their armor. “Fuck, Simmons.” He panted, hips rolling with the gentle strokes.

Simmons muffled his moan by biting at Grif’s lips, his nails digging into skin, before they smoothed over the red marks he’d made. “ _Grif, please_.” He panted against his lips, his toes curling as they rocked together and Grif stroked them, sharp little tugs that brought them closer and closer to tumbling off that edge.

The thrill of doing this together hadn’t faded, and was added to by the fact that _anyone could come into the fucking locker room at any time, oh god._ Simmons whimpered out Grif’s name, only taking a couple more heated strokes to cum, messy and hot between them. He cried out, some mix of a moan and Grif’s name, echoing loudly off the tile.

Grif was quick to come with him, snarling out softly as he tucked his face down into Simmons’ neck, his hips bucking forward almost involuntary as he added his own sticky cum to Simmons’. Both fought to catch their breath, Grif gently lowering down Simmons’ legs, letting him stand shakily. He laughed breathlessly when he almost fell over, wobbling like a newborn colt.

“You fucking nerd.” Grif chuckled, still worn out as he leaned up to kiss him, grinning as Simmons punched him hard on the shoulder.

“Now we have to wash ourselves all over again. Why didn’t you just do that first!” He sighed, shaking his head as he reached out to get the soap another time, scowling down at the mess that was rinsing itself off of his belly.

“Cause then you would have shit on me for getting hot and heavy before we were clean. It was literally a no win situation for me here, Simmons.” Grif laughed, rinsing out his hair the rest of the way, feeling through the slick strands for any more paint, and to test just how fucking tangled it was going to be for them to brush out. “Besides, we’re not on a time table or anything. Dinner isn’t for like, another three hours.”

“ _Yeah but some other people wanna take showers too!_ ” A feminine voice shouted out, followed by Tucker’s fucking hyena cackling.

Simmons immediately flushed as bright as his hair, almost bright enough to hide all of his freckles, staring wide, horrified eyes over towards the entrance to the shower area, seeing Kai poke her head in, already with her hair down and just in her undersuit.

“We’ve been pretty chill waiting out here and shooting the shit, but Tuck has paint in his dreads, Caboose is talking about his little blue friend again, and Donut is trying to convince Sarge to try some of his body lotions. _I_ just really want a shower.” Kai laughed, smirking at the two of them before she had a bottle of shampoo chucked at her.

“Fuck off, Kai!” Grif snapped, his own face flushed from embarrassment, stepping out of the spray of water and wringing out his hair. “Also I’m cutting all this shit off, I’m so fucking sick of it.” He grunted, reaching out to snag a towel and leaving the shower for Simmons to turn off when he wasn’t so embarrassed he couldn’t move.

She laughed as she dodged the bottle, ducking back out to give the two some privacy to get out of the water and dried off. “Do it and I’m gonna stab you with the scissors you used!”

“I’ll fucking use Tucker’s bullshit energy sword!”

“Hey! Leave me the fuck out of this! My sword is awesome stolen tech, you’re just jealous!” Tucker looked up from where he was at the mirror, arching his brow at Kai and snorting softly, leaning back to catch a look into the showers. “Are they done fucking?”

“Looks like it. So we should be able to go in after they’re done having their existential crisis.” She sing-songed back at him, grinning lightly, just happy that the Project had brought something happy for Grif.

“All agents are required to use in-field state names at all times.” FILSS added into the conversation, her voice echoing through the locker room over the mess of voices from the agents. “It is one of the main rules of the Project. I will have to tell the Counselor.”

“Uhm, yeah but, we are all out of armor, see, and I do not remember everyone’s state name when they are not in armor, nice lady.” Caboose chirped from his locker, looking over towards FILSS’ panel and grinning. “So it is really just is nice to use names when people are not in the right colors because it might confuse some people sometimes. And everyone thinks that is okay.”

Grif sighed deeply and shook his head, looking back at Simmons and rubbing his back with one broad hand. “You gonna be alright there, Simmons?” He murmured, wanting to make sure that great big brain of his hadn’t bluescreened or something.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just. . .We aren’t going to do anything like that anymore, except in our room with the door locked.” Simmons rushed out the words, still embarrassed and flushed, but he turned off the shower and got his towel, smiling lightly at Grif. “Hey, if you’re really good, I might just brush your hair for you.”

“Aw man, you’re the best.” Grif teased, shoving at his shoulder as he finished drying off, getting into his clothes as he watched Simmons do the same, his red hair plastered to his head and skin still flushed from embarrassment and the heat of their shower. He reached out to lace their fingers together as they stepped into the main locker room area from the showers.

Yeah, everything wasn’t perfect. They had their fights, they had their missions, but here, with the squad that actually mattered to him, Grif could say that he was actually comfortable for once.

Watching Sarge wave around a shotgun he shouldn’t even have in the locker room, Donut frantically trying to get it away from him, Tucker and Kai quietly chatting together as they worked out the paint in his hair, Caboose playing with something in the corner that quickly ended up on _fire_ -

Yeah, Grif was happy with this.


End file.
